The day I finally accepted the truth, was the day I sat on that floral armchair watching him run around the garden with our grandchild. He looked just as handsome as the day I married him and he had had my heart for all those years since.
His arms looked so strong, so young, as they twirled our grandson into the sky. His hair showed no signs of grey and the way he was jumping about, it was like he was a quarter of his age.
I had assumed he would grow old eventually. But sat there on that sunny day, realisation hit me and I knew that he couldn't. He wouldn't.
I stood up, and trembled. My legs were weaker now. Each step a challenge, each task a mountain to climb. I saw the worried glance he gave me from outside, but he stayed put. He knew by now, not to help.
You know, people pass us and mistake him for my grandson. How would they know he is actually older than me?
As I watched him, I realised that one day I would die.
And when that happened, he would be forced to live on forever.